By Adam Lovinus
By Lilledeshan Bose
By Gabriel San Roman
By Rachel Mattice
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Daniel Kohn
By Nate Jackson
By Mike Seeley
AND MORE TERROR: The pride of Oceania: Australia's top Pink Floyd tribute plays the Grove and wonders why all these Americans are dressed so crazy, or doesn't because they're an Australian Pink Floyd tribute band and too drunk and numb to even notice. We don't need no education and we never did, neither!
AND YET MORE: 45 Grave is better than anything the Misfits are doing now so spot Dinah Cancer or dinah boredom from your own fault. At the Vault with Veruca Salt for some oddly scheduled reason.
Marianne Faithfull is more permanently associated with chocolate bars than Willy Wonka but ain't that unfair because she was better than Nico: sadder when she was sad and winsome-r when she was winsome and even as disco-credible as Yoko for that post punk late '70s comeback, too. This girl's life, man—other than that not-herself detour with Metallica, it's about enough to make your heart deliquesce. Lady sings the blues at the HOB.
AND THE LONG NIGHT NEVER LIFTS: John Tesh sucks your blood—vlah!—at the Cerritos Center, which he does once a year around this time as terms of the bargain he had to make to get the life he got. Vlah!
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 2
Swedeos make Blondie safer—it's the Scandinavian impulse to safen up their cars and their furniture and their wholesome credulous womens—and call it the Sounds, and it is the kind of dance party the fancy-haired people around here just love to love, dahling. At the Galaxy. Don't ever change, OC.